The Magic of St Dunstan's

Can't remember if I've gone on about this before, but just briefly:

Having spent much of Friday afternoon wandering around the City, and the Guildhall Art Gallery (most notable for a 25 foot by 22 foot painting which could be titled "We Are The British Navy, So Piss Off Johnny Foreigner" and a terrifying sculpture of Margaret Thatcher), I decided to sit out the rush hour in one of my favourite spots in the capital - St Dunstan's In The East.

St Dunstan's was a church, which suffered more than most. Originally medieval, it was destroyed in the Great Fire. It was then rebuilt by Wren and, if I recall, burnt down again (except the tower, which still stands), and rebuilt in 1817. Then a German firebomb gutted the place in 1940.

What was done, as the church was deemed suprlus to requirements, is that the remains of the floor were taken up, and the interior planted as a garden, with little pathways, a fountain, and various trees and bushes. This was done in the 1960's, so the effect is now entirely mature, and the resultant effect is glorious, with ivy rambling over the remaining walls and twining among the tracery of the windows, and small trees climbing in imitation of the tower (which is now a Chapel of Rets, or something similar). The centre of the park is a circle of benches round a small, burbling fountain.
It is, to me, a very special place - although the roar of traffic on Lower Thames Street is only 20 yards away, you hardly notice it within this strange, sylvan glade. Unfortunately it's closed at night - as the place is floodlit, it would have a most singular atmosphere.

One reason I mention it is that, with Nano coming up, were the London Nano'ers to be seeking somewhere unusual to meet up one day and write or brainstorm, I can think of few places better, as it really is its own little world.

St Dunstan's can be found on (surprise surprise) St Dunstan's Hill, between Eastcheap and Lower Thames Street, just west of Tower Hill. I have not managed to find any particularly good photo sets of it, but this photo gives you some idea: http://www.landscape.gre.ac.uk/lguide/stduns1.htm

(no subject)

Today, on phone to mother, she was asking me when my friends' baby is due, and I didn't know the answer. I think she accepted this as reasonable until I mentioned I had spoken to them four days earlier, and then she was surprised I didn't know.

Quite simply, when I spoke to my friends, the question didn't really come up - we spoke about what they were up to, and how they were cramming as much in as possible (including continuing decoration) before it became impossible, and how Sarah doesn't do quite so much now because she gets tired more easily, but other than that the subject wasn't really touched on too much.
I don't believe for a second this doesn't mean they're excited about the baby, or getting ready for its arrival - I think it's just that they have other things going on in their lives, and probably that they are good enough judges of character to know that to a single guy living on his own, news of second scans and purchase of rattles isn't all-encompassing news.

As long as this persists, the question will eventually come from my mother as to why I'm not excited about their news - am I not happy for them, am I that cold-blooded?

I am happy for my friends because they are happy, provided they are happy. I want to see my friends happy, and if this makes them happy, then that's wonderful for them, and I wish them all blessings from the bottom of my heart.

But am I happy _for me_ because two good mates of mine are going to become parents? No - not especially. It means the aspects of our friendship that I treasure - evenings spent sitting around drinking and talking, meals out, lengthy phone-calls - and likely (though not certain) to become rarer, and in the short-term at least a thing of the past. They will to some extent become different people - I hopefully will find I like the people they become very well, and enjoy their company. But they will change, because parenthood changes everybody, and anyone whop claims it doesn't, or that it won't, probably hasn't got to grips with the concept. And I will miss the people that I knew, even if I like the people they become just as well...

This doesn't mean I'm not happy for them, because I am. It just meanms that I'm not necessarily happy for me as a result... This may, however, prove too fine a distinction for my mother, especially since she finds the news absolutely wonderful ... which leads on to the inevitable conversation as to when I'm going to start thinking about "the future", for which read my duty to spawn...